


Work Ethic (flexible)

by Miss_Mahlzahn



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Headcanon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:48:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26320669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Mahlzahn/pseuds/Miss_Mahlzahn
Summary: What *is* Crowley's work ethic?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) If You Squint
Kudos: 6





	Work Ethic (flexible)

**Author's Note:**

> Pure headcanon. No plot (but no porn either, sorry). Unbeta'ed. Non-native speaker. Author is a glutton for comments, esp. about your headcanon about our favourite soft demon.

Technically, Crowley’s wiles are to ensure human souls for Hell. His heart isn’t into it.

He IS willing to turn people against Heaven, but come on, who wouldn’t? Crowley is sure (and not completely wrongly so) that even Aziraphale is not that fond of Heaven, but, and this IS a big but (full disclosure: here Crowley’s inner monologue always stops to snicker as the 11-year-old he sometimes is), who in their right mind would wish Hell even on their worst enemy?

Again, technically, there are many humans who would gladly send those pesky neighbours to Hell who every other week blocks in their parked car, but Crowley doesn’t think they are in their right minds. After all, humans WERE created in God’s image, and as much as Crowley would like to ask Her hard questions, he still, desperately, wants to give Her the benefit of the doubt. Desperately. Which, while he knows this in his heart of hearts, he could never divulge downstairs. It might make Lucifer Himself reconsider if Crowley is really one of Hell’s assets.

Of course, and again technically, Crowley really is. His shenanigans do indeed generate the biggest amount of evil of all demons on earth (and there are quite a few at any given time, but since every single other one of them hates it up here even more than Down There, they never stay long, to the great relief of both Crowley and Aziraphale)...

Where was I? Technically, Crowley’s task is to ensure as many human souls for Hell as possible. Crowley’s not quite sure, why. Probably just Lucifer trying to spite Her, keeping Her little ones from Her. There is a rumour that human souls in Hell will eventually turn into demons, thus replenishing Lucifer’s Army for Armageddon. Now, a couple times Crowley has been unfortunate enough to actually meet a soul condemned to Hell. It hadn’t been a nice sight. They most certainly were in no condition to fight. Most of them were in no condition worth mentioning at all, apart from agony.

Now, some say that the Agony of Hell is to be parted from God, but while this might be true for the demons (something on which Crowley couldn’t possibly comment), most of the agony for the human souls does actually come from demons taking their revenge on Mother Dearest’s little pets whose existence caused the demons to Fall in the first place (totally and completely humanity’s fault).

Crowley once tried to do some of the torturing (he DOES have some anger pent up), but the minute the human started to cry out in earnest, Crowley’s stomach turned and he retched in the corner, while Hastur took over with gusto, laughing derisively.

After this, both Ligur and Hastur despised him with a vengeance, no matter how much commendations Crowley reels in.

Which he does regularly. And not only for things the humans did all by themselves, making Crowley dive for the next source of hard liquor while they are sealing their fate with aplomb (although some of these occasions made the biggest splashes). 

Very early on, Crowley has tried to keep away from craftsmanship, as Hastur calls it, that is, from one-on-one corrupting. For a variety of reasons. Firstly, it’s rather hard work, usually. 

Secondly, it would require him to come to know a human, and more often than not, he finds them to be actually quite tolerable, and then really, really, doesn’t want to send them to Hell. It is Hell, after all, and most of the times, they end up his kind-of-friends, anyways.

Thirdly, it’s not very efficient. Also very early on, Crowley had decided that it would be a lot safer for him to be a successful demon. Since most of the lesser Dukes hate him, he needs to ensure Headquarter’s favour, which requires him to be very successful, and THIS requires him to be efficient. 

Now, Crowley is strangely powerful, but hilariously, he doesn’t know it. After… well, after Before, he has never tried to manipulate time, space or matter in earnest, certainly not on a scale fit for, say astrophysics. What he does know is that he is both rather clever and has more imagination than half of Hell together (he assumes humans rubbed off on him). 

It doesn’t take him long to figure out that inventing customs and fashions and laws can yield so much of human anger, which in turn lowers their inhibitions and morals and impulse control and … well, makes the world a worse place, really, without him moving a single finger after planting the idea itself.

Crowley shouldn’t be proud of himself, but he is (demon, remember?). 

Sometimes, of course, there are special assignments, usually when Hell wants to ensure the right (wrong) course of history. These times, Crowley has to ensnare an individual soul. Depending on the subject and their weaknesses, in the beginning, this can be fun. After all, most decent human beings can easily consent to a bit of mischief, especially after a bit of alcohol. 

A couple of times, Crowley had had to use lust as the bait, something he detests. He thinks this is just unfair: He considers lust to be something rather fun, and to taint it like that – not cool (this may or may not bear any relation to Crowley’s most secret private ideas about a certain acquaintance of his).

On the other hand, these few and far between cases, the subjects of his temptations only needed lust as the first bait, the real hook into their souls became power – power over some enticing, but weak redhead that they pressed into doing their bidding either by blackmail or chemicals or physical force.

Crowley made sure they knew that the redhead hated their encounters (he didn’t have to act a lot – he had been repulsed by them, although less by the physical act and more by the stink of their soul rotting away), thereby sealing their fate.

Though, to be honest, lately, the angel would come to the rescue, so to speak. More often than not, Aziraphale would seek out the offenders, and put the fear of - if not God - then gravely bodily harm in them. Crowley has a completely lunatic theory why these kinds of temptations seem to attract thwarting so regularly, but he keeps it to himself, saving the theory for special private daydreaming.

Sometimes, he considers assignments unfair to the subject. Why should questioning some ridiculous dogma qualify a soul for hell? Or having some private fun with another consenting lumberjack? Or mixing fabrics, for anyone’s sake? 

Of course, Crowley cannot be sure that these actions actually guarantee a rather disappointing after-life (this is a sour point for Heaven and Hell – where a soul is bound to is only known to God Herself, and pretty often both sides are surprised when their carefully curated candidate ends up in the other place).

Crowley doesn’t care professionally – he gets his success-points according to guidelines painstakingly re-negotiated every couple of centuries by the bigwigs Upstairs and Downstairs. In his heart of hearts (cautiously hidden away) he from time to time allows himself to hope assume that while Heaven and Hell are both big sticklers for these rules, that the actual Judge is less strict, and maybe Merciful after all).

Once he had even had the audacity to bring up this idea to the angel - it must have been in Jerusalem, shortly before that very strange Pessach. Aziraphale had only looked at him, eyes wide and suddenly shining with tears, and had raised his arm from the table. For a second, everything went quiet and Crowley had had the strange impression that the angel were to touch his face, or maybe his head, but then the barmaid put the next jug between them on the table and the moment was lost.

When they had finally arrived at the Arrangement, Crowley found himself to be quiet adept at blessing and comforting. The angel had been a bit squeamish about tempting, at first, but he, too, had proven to be up to the task, especially in regards to gluttony, coveting and – somewhat surprising at first – lying. Which was fortunate, since Crowley himself always seemed to struggle a bit with falsehoods. His filed of expertise had always been sowing doubt and jealousy.

After it all, when they were both free from their departments’ obligations, so to speak, Crowley kept sowing doubt as a hobby: A party-whip here, a judge there, and for fun some astrophysicists on Sundays. Aziraphale sometimes tutted, but couldn’t help but cheer him on when Crowley one day after watching the news snapped and went for three pompous self-righteous presidents in a row . The angel even added some bouts of empathy as well, befalling the poor sods during rather inconvenient times. The press conferences afterwards were glorious.

All in all, Crowley didn’t have to adjust much. His work ethic was flexible enough.


End file.
